


Allen Walker and the Message for Dumbledore

by yun_xuan



Category: D.Gray-man, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Making This Up As I Go, Title Subject to Change, allen walker: emotion repressing king, bro i have literally no idea what im doing, cross marian's bs, dgm spoilers, i lack braincells and it shows, kind of?, takes place vaguely around then, the black order sucks ass, this is titled 'weirdass fic i couldn't get out of my head' in my files
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yun_xuan/pseuds/yun_xuan
Summary: Exorcist General Marian Cross of the Black Order is dead. He leaves behind one traumatized apprentice, one questionably mechanical golem, quite a bit of outstanding debt, but most importantly, a message for that apprentice to bring to Albus Dumbledore.
Relationships: Allen Walker & Cross Marian, Allen Walker & Howard Link, Allen Walker & The Order of the Phoenix
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. a knock at the door

It happened during breakfast--Mrs. Weasley puddling around the kitchen, fussing and "Have another serving, Harry dear, you're skin and bones"-ing, Lupin demolishing a plate of bacon and eggs in a decidedly polite manner while he conversed with Sirius in low, murmuring tones, the twins snickering amongst themselves as they gazed at what was likely one of their latest inventions hidden from their mother's disapproving stare underneath the table. Crookshanks was curled up comfortably in Hermione's lap, Ginny seated across from her, and Ron was stumbling through the doorway rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. 

It wasn't obvious what the sound was at first, but as what he later figures must have been the people drawing closer to the hidden door of Number 13, Grimmauld Place, it became clear that it was two voices. Raised voices. He was just able to make out the conversation, though it seemed to be more of an argument.

"...have my orders, Walker." A male voice, tinged with the slightest hint of a German accent. He sounded strained. 

"You've bent the rules before." Another voice. It was male again, but with a softer edge and undeniably British.

"Just return with me. Please. We'll work something out-"

"I have no intention of rotting in Vatican's basement while you 'work something out,'" Walker interrupted, "If you ever cared about me, Link, you would let me go."

"I- Walker, you can't just... This wouldn't be bending the rules, it would be completely shattering them."

"So shatter them." A beat. "Regardless, I'm not returning with you." 

"I... I see that now," said Link, softer and resigned.

"Tell them that you caught me, but I slipped away in the last second."

"You and I both know that _he_ would never believe that."

"Then say that you couldn't find a trace of me at all. Make something up, something believable. I know you can lie, I've seen it before."

A pause.

"So this is goodbye."

"This is goodbye," Walker confirmed.

"Did you hear that? Sounded like a bloody lover's quarrel," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

"I thought it was all rather odd. Especially that Walker fellow, with all this talk of rot and Vatican. Being wanted by Vatican in modern times seems a bit peculiar," Hermione said, a thoughtful look upon her face.

"Maybe he's a wizard. Muggle churches aren't the biggest fan of witchcraft far as I know." Ron's speech was still garbled from his awful table manners. From what little Harry knew of Christianity via Aunt Petunia--Uncle Vernon wasn't the religious sort and Dudley wasn't much concerned with anything beside the newest video game or his latest human punching bag--Ron was correct in his assumption.

Any further speculation was cut off by a polite rapping at the door. The front door, to a house under the Fidelius Charm. Generally speaking, knocks at the front doors of houses under the Fidelius Charm are not supposed to happen. Something was wrong. Well, either something was wrong or Dedalus Diggle had gotten his mornings and nights mixed up and was twelve hours early for the Order meeting. Again.

"Children, go to your rooms," Mrs. Weasley ordered with a rather pale look on her face. The knock came again, with slightly more urgency as Ginny, the twins, and Ron all violently protested.

"I'll get the door," Sirius growled, but Lupin pushed him back down into his chair and told him that he couldn't risk it, tone leaving no room for argument.

"To your rooms. Now," Mrs. Weasley commanded. Grudgingly, all the occupants of the room not yet of age, plus an especially complaining Fred and George, trudged up the stairs. However, that was where they all stopped, looking expectantly at the twins.

"What? Did you really think-"

"-that we brought Extendable Ears?"

"Because, you'd be-"

"-absolutely correct," they said in unison with a smile, handing out a fleshy tube into each of their waiting hands. It wasn't long before they heard the ominous creak of the front door opening.

"Please point the, er, stick elsewhere, thank you." It was Walker's voice, but the tone was completely different. In the conversation just minutes before, he was distant and cold, but now he had an air of polite cheeriness--and slight confusion. He also sounded far younger than Harry initially thought. Walker was obviously talking about wands, but it sounded like he had never seen or even heard of one before. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't possibly be a muggle, as far as Harry knew. After all, he had somehow managed to find the secret headquarters of the Order.

"I'll put the wand down," Lupin said with an undertone of danger, "When you explain how in Merlin's name you managed to knock on this door."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand the question." Harry could just picture the apologetic smile he knew that the mysterious Walker must be giving. "I just walked up to the door and knocked."  
  
"This house is under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. Unless it somehow suddenly wore off, there's no way you could have simply 'walked up to the door and knocked."

"Fidelius Charm? I'm afraid I am not familiar with that name. My master," here Walker paused, as if 'master' wasn't quite the word he wanted to use, "practiced some magic, but I know little of it. Is it some sort of barrier seal?"

"You could say that," said his former professor like it wasn't the understatement of the bloody century. His voice hardened, "What is your purpose in coming here?"

"My purpose? I have a message from my master for an Albus Dumbledore, and this is the address that he gave me before he... Well, that doesn't matter now..." Walker drifted off into silence, and Harry felt like he had been struck by lightning. A master with a message for Dumbledore? All Harry could think of was Voldemort. He was certain. This Walker fellow was a servant of Voldemort--whatever his message was, it couldn't be good.

Lupin seemed to have a similar line of thought. If Voldemort has the address of the Order of the Pheonix, they're doomed. "Stupefy!" A thud, and all is quiet again. Lupin sighed. "I know that you're eavesdropping. Just come back down already." 

They complied, grinning sheepishly as Mrs. Weasley gave them her evil-eye. Sprawled out and stunned on the floor was what Harry thought at first glance to be an old man, but upon closer inspection appears to actually be a white-haired teenager. Harry couldn't help but think of ash when he looked at the boy. This must be Walker. 

Lupin grabbed under Walker's arms and heaved him up onto a chair, and then casted a binding spell to restrain him. Now that Walker was upright, he was far stranger looking then Harry could have ever imagined. Looking at the massive red scar slashing down the left side of his face almost made him feel grateful for the relatively small size of his own. His clothing was just as odd as the rest of him, with the shiny material, the red piping, and the solid silver emblem on his breast. He also wore white gloves on his hands. In fact, not a single bit of skin below his head is exposed. He was rather pretty, in that way that would make Ginny sigh and mutter about how Hogwarts boys simply can't compare.

"Looks bloody weird, doesn't he." Ron, as usual, had all the tact of a mountain troll. Ginny punched him on the arm.

"You can't just go around calling people weird!"

"But he is-- Ow! Blimey, Gin, do you really have to hit so hard?"

Sirius grabbed his wand out of its holster and aimed it at the unconscious Walker. "Let's see what he has to say for himself."

Molly looked worried. "Shouldn't we wait for Dumbledore? He'd know the right thing to do."

"Order meeting's not until tonight. That's an awfully long time to wait. The sooner we take care of this, the better." It may have just been Sirius' desire to break free of the constant monotony of being stuck in his family home talking, but Harry found himself agreeing. And with Dumbledore's tendency to hide things from him it might have been the only way he would find anything out about the mysterious Walker. Molly reluctantly agreed, but she didn't look happy about it. 

"Ennervate!"

Walker's eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then he stirred.

\---

Allen Walker is a person who generally prides himself on his politeness and his manners. He worked hard on them, you know? Yes, Allen Walker is polite and has excellent manners. He gritted his teeth as he looked at the gaggle of teenagers and three adults, two of which look rather scrappy, surrounding his bound body. Polite. Excellent manners. His eye twitched. Struggling to regain his composure, he bit out, "Apologies, but why am I tied to a chair?"

The man with the grimy prison hair scowled at him. "Don't play dumb, Death Eater." Allen was beginning to feel like he has misunderstood something very fundamental about this situation. 

"What in the world is a 'death eater?'" Does it have something to do with the Earl? Perhaps it's their word for brokers. The man looked at him aghast.

"Are you an idiot? That's the least believable lie I've ever heard."

"I couldn't tell at first, but look, Sirius, he's only a boy," whispers the rather matronly redheaded woman. Judging by the number of children with the same coloring, his guess wasn't far off.

"I'm sixteen, ma'am. I'm hardly a boy." Though he thought it impossible, she somehow became even more motherly looking at that statement.

"You're a year younger than us, then," one of the two identical redheads said. The other continued, "Say, if sixteen is old enough to be a suspected Death Eater, shouldn't seventeen be old enough to join the Order?"

The woman who Allen assumed to be their mother leveled them a mean glare. "We've talked about this already, and you know how I feel about it."

"But, Mum--"

"No buts about it. Sixteen is much too young to fight in a war, and seventeen is no better." Allen couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Do you think this is funny?" scoffed Sirius, "Go on then, tell us exactly who this master of yours is."

"General Cross. Is there an issue?" To be honest, he felt rather confused about all of this. And judging by the look of confusion on the faces of everyone else, they felt the same way.

"Oh. Well. Alright, then," the man with the scarred face said sheepishly, "Er, terribly sorry about. Well. All this. We were under the impression that you were in the service of You-Know-Who."

Allen did not know who. 

In fact, he had absolutely no idea about what is going on.

"Cross? That seems familiar..." Sirius mused, "What's his first name?"

He wouldn't be surprised if Cross had had... exploits in the area. "Cross is actually his first name. Cross Marian." At that, Sirius' eyes widened in surprise, and the scarred man looked rather shocked as well.

"Marian? Really?" He asked. Allen nodded. "Marian was the name of one of Dumbledore's allies back in the day, but nobody knows where he went. How is he? If he's the same Marian."

That was the one question he that was afraid of. _A dark room, blood covering the walls--far more blood than anybody could lose and survive--his master's body slumped over, blood, so much blood-_

"He's dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how regular updates on this are going to--i'll probably just post as i write. hope you enjoyed!


	2. homesick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THIS TOOK A LOT LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BUT ITS FINALLY DONE WOOOOOOOOOOO

  
The silence was thick and heavy in the dusty air. Walker just sat there, bound by rope and looking hollow, like one touch would shatter him into tiny little shards of porcelain. And then he smiled, that same polite smile as before, but the illusion was broken. He knew that look on Walker's face. It was the look that he saw in the mirror every time he dreamt of acid green light and "kill the spare." Harry was struck by the thought that Walker was a liar, and that whoever this Marian Cross was, he had died in front of him.

Molly was the one to break the solemn quiet. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that, dear." It wasn't much, a simple platitude, but Walker's shoulders tensed like no one had ever offered him sympathy before. 

"What is in the past is in the past." Walker's voice was quiet, but steady. "We can't change it. We just have to keep walking forward." Harry thought of Cedric, and wished he could say the same about his ability to cope.

Mrs. Weasley looked as if she wanted to say something, but a rustling sound originated from the area of one of the large pockets on Walker's strange coat. He looked unconcerned, and soon a flash of bright gold flew out of it and settled on the top of his head. "There you are, Tim. I was beginning to worry that you had been eaten by a cat. Again." The golden /thing/ looked rather like a snitch, if a snitch had a long tail. A long tail and a set of large teeth that were revealed when the creature... machine... thing appeared to yawn.

As he glanced around the room, the others seemed to share his state of weirdly intrigued incredulity. Whatever cat could eat that thing must have had a stomach of pure steel. Ron, as usual, had no trouble expressing what they all were thinking. 

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"Now, Ronald, that is clearly a piece of advanced Muggle 'teckohnology'. Fascinating! How exactly does it work?" Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, practically salivated at the idea of a Muggle invention he hadn't seen before.

"Timcanpy is-- was my master's golem." That cleared up absolutely nothing, but Walker didn't seem keen to elaborate. The golem, as he called it, began to chew on the snowy locks of the teenager. Harry shivered. He'd stick to proper snitches, not golden eldritch abominations, please and thank you. 

It was at that moment that Harry realized that Walker was still very much tied up. And that he didn't even know the boy's full name. He felt like he should probably do something at least one of those things. 

"Er, Walker was it?" Wrong thing. 

Walker nodded in affirmation. "Yes, Allen Walker. How'd you know?" The question was polite enough, but something in the tension of Walker's-- Allen's shoulders and the tilt to his smiling face belied danger.

Harry winced. "The conversation you were having before knocking on the door wasn't exactly quiet. I heard the other bloke--Link, I think?--call you Walker." Allen seemed to relax at that, but not all the way, probably because he was still tied up. Right. He meant to do something about that. "Here, let me," he fumbled with the ropes for a moment, "Sorry about you getting tied up." 

Allen, finally free of the bindings, stretched out with a relieved groan. "It wasn't your fault. Don't worry about it. I can hardly blame any of you for being suspicious. I know I would've been." A loud rumbling sound filled the air, apparently originating from the direction of Allen, who didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "I may be a bit hungry."

Mrs. Weasley was quick to spring into action, casting a charm to warm up their abandoned and half-eaten breakfast. "Help yourself, dear. Why, you're just as bad as Harry. Sticks, the both of you!" She loaded up a dish of the Black's fine china with as much food as it would carry and set it down in front of Allen. What happened next could only be described as a massacre of foodkind--he shoveled all of it into his mouth in a blink of the eye, somehow maintaining perfect manners the entire time. Harry felt slightly queasy at the sight, and Ron was looking at Allen with what seemed to be awe and respect.

Despite the strangeness of it all, they managed to settle back into the comfort of a morning routine, Allen included. Or perhaps it was because of the strangeness, because magic and strangeness go together like bread and butter. Breakfast came to a long overdue close, Mrs. Weasley glared her children into table-clearing submission, and Sirius and Remus headed up the stairs, muttering something about feeding Buckbeak. Which was odd, now that he thought about it, considering that his godfather had definitely mentioned that he fed him before breakfast began. It was probably nothing.

"Allen, I'm afraid most of the rooms are uninhabitable at the moment. Would you mind staying with the other boys your age?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Harry didn't know quite how to feel about that. Allen seemed decent enough, but he had quite literally only known him for an hour, give or take a few minutes.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?" Allen seemed to feel much the same way. 

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "It's no trouble at all." She gave Ron and Harry a meaningful glance. "Why don't you give Allen a tour of the house? Especially so he can avoid the cursed areas."

Harry figured there's no getting out of this, so he grabbed Ron by the arm and gestured for Allen to follow.

\---

Allen was almost a complete stranger to wizarding houses--there was that one time with Cross that he has made much effort to permanently scrub from his mind--but he was fairly certain that cursed areas were not standard staples of magical architecture. Probably. Knowing himself and his navigational difficulties, he's grateful for the tour. He asked Tim to record it, just in most-likely-going-to-happen-case.

First stop was a side room next to the dining room, which he was warned to stay far away from the green wallpaper. He asked why, expecting a curse, to which the redheaded boy had replied, "Nah, just arsenic." Not exactly reassuring. 

They entered the foyer, which was decorated grotesquely--he could have sworn that those plaques in the back were mounted heads of what looked like children. The walls were lined in dreary grey velvet panelling that had seen much better days, the railing of the staircase had sculpted gargoyles and spikes, and the chandelier was covered in cobwebs.

It reminded him of the Order, silly as that was. 

It reminded him of _home_.

He shook his head to clear out the thoughts he'd rather ignore. Scanning the walls for something to distract him, his eyes fell upon a odd pair of curtains. They didn't point towards the outside, unless magic was somehow involved. As he drew closer, he noticed the wall surrounding them seemed to be damaged, like somebody had gone to town with a hammer on it. 

He reached out to pull the curtains back. The boy with the wild black hair let out an exclamation to wait, but it was too late. He was face to face with a portrait of a woman, and with an earth-shattering screech the portrait began to scream.

"BETRAYERS IN THE HALLS OF MY ANCESTORS! CAMPBELL DISGRACES TO THE NOBLE NAME OF BLACK!" 

He backed away in shock, hands raised in defense. The woman continued to scream, growing louder by the second. What could she mean by--

"TURNCOATS BY NATURE--TRAITORS BY BLOOD!"

The redheaded boy dashed forward and forced the curtains shut with no little difficulty. The portrait-woman's screams grew muffled, until they eventually ceased. The three occupants of the foyer--not counting the dubiously sentient painting--subsequently found themselves in an incredibly awkward silence. 

The boy with the glasses cleared his throat. "That was Mrs. Black."

"Sirius' mom," the other clarified. Allen wasn't quite sure if they meant that the painting was a portrait of his mom or if the painting _was_ his mom. He's seen weirder things when it comes to Innocence. "She's always like that. 'S why Harry tried to warn you away from the portrait." Harry must be the name of the dark-haired boy. The redhead continued, "Does the name 'Campbell' mean anything to you?"

Allen has had years of practice in controlling his expression, so he did not not flinch. Instead, he put up a carefully measured front of confusion. "I don't recognize it. Should I?"

"No, no. I didn't think you would. The Campbells were a part of the Kamelot family--a really old wizarding bloodline. They're related to the Blacks, and I suppose the Malfoys by extension. They were pretty prominent a century or so ago, but they were disgraced. I don't quite remember how... something about improper relationships with magical Beings." 

He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly the nature of those improper relationships, though he doubted that Noah would be considered magical beings. He also had a feeling that the "betrayers" Mrs. Black had screamed bloody murder about were implicitly related to a certain unwelcome hitchhiker in his body.

"It's a bit weird that she would mention it after seeing you," the dark-haired boy, Harry, said with narrowed eyes.

He replied evenly, "Yes, it is a bit weird." And that was that. He could tell that Harry was still suspicious of him, but there wasn't much he could do to assuage it at the moment. 

They continued on their tour of the large estate, mostly consisting of warnings away from various cursed objects and places. Allen's head was spinning from the maze like hallways, and he was glad that he had the forethought to have Tim record it. 

Finally, they arrived at the room that he would be sharing with the other boys in his age group--the majority of whom appeared to be offspring of the matronly redheaded woman. The door swung open to reveal a tiny room crammed full of far too many beds to properly fit--which was to say three. 

Harry and the redhead each sat down the beds on either side of the room, leaving him the one in the middle. He walked over to it and sat down as well with a sigh.

This would be a long... well, eternity, maybe. It's not like he could exactly come prancing back into the Order and expect to not be arrested for treason. 

He sighed again, because if his years on the streets of London have taught him one thing, it's to never show weakness. 

To never cry, even when his face burned from held-back tears and he could never, ever go home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao poor allen i keep giving him feels and he keeps repressing them


End file.
